


You're a Scavenger Now

by ProxiCentauri



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Dysphoria, But he's happy in the end don't worry, Gen, Past Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProxiCentauri/pseuds/ProxiCentauri
Summary: After Fulcrum gets past the shock of finding out he missed the past million years or so, the war is over, and, well, that he's even ALIVE at all, he has to deal with the fact that his body has been altered and destroyed beyond all recognition. And he's not too keen about throwing himself to the mercy of yet another Deception medic to fix it, but... Spinister and the rest of the Scavengers are not exactly like the other Decepticons.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	You're a Scavenger Now

“He’s raspberry flavored. Trust me this time. Crankcase I’m _telling_ you! Just try his energon!”

Misfire was wildly thrusting a limp torso over the embers of their fire, getting more and more insistent. And all this was to a seemingly indifferent Crankcase. Fulcrum craned his neck to watch more. It was enough to catch Misfire open his mouth, but the rest of his rant was muffled as Krok closed the doors of the WAP behind them. One look at Fulcrum and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He’s not raspberry flavored, trust me,” was all he said.

Fulcrum nodded. “Yeah, no I believe that.”

“They’ll be fine out there,” Krok said. “He’ll wear himself down eventually. Watch your step,” he said, walking past some loose cans rolling around on the ground-- no wait. Those were detached fuel tanks. Fulcrum gingerly skirted around them as Krok led him deeper into their ship. “Kitchen’s right there.” Pantries lined the room, a few knocked open and barren inside. In the center, a few stools of mismatching heights surrounded a table with a vaguely glowing stain. “Our energon’s kept there. When we have it.”

Krok rounded a corner, leading Fulcrum through the dimly lit corridors. Occasional junk and severed parts clattered around their pedes as they walked, Fulcrum tiptoeing around what he could like a morbid game of hopscotch. 

“We’ll save the grand tour for tomorrow,” Krok said. “You might want to save any looking around by yourself until you know the ‘danger zones.’” Krok emphasized with air quotes. 

Fulcrum only glanced up, and his next hop landed him in a lumpy puddle of something. Shuddering, he nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“This is Crankcase’s room--” Krok thrust his thumb at a closed door. “Don’t bother knocking. He’ll say no. Flywheels is over there. Misfire is here.”

This time the door was open and Fulcrum peaked inside, doing a double take as they kept walking.

“Did something just move in there?”

“Probably,” Krok said, voice tired. “Spinister’s quarters are at the end of the hall,” he continued, “close to the medbay. You’ll know it when you see it.”

They walked past several more closed doors, Krok not bothering to narrate them beyond vaguely waving them off as ‘storage’. Finally, Fulcrum raised his eyebrows and asked, “And your room?”

Krok laughed. “Other end of the ship. Captain’s privileges.” He stopped in front of another closed door.. “And you,” he said, keying it open for Fulcrum, “can recharge in here. Sorry it’s not--” Krok made a face and gestured to the room. Empty cans in every corner, scrap supplies piled up in boxes, and what looked like some sort of giant, inflatable, pink bird actually took up most of the room. That was a weird one. And technically, there in the corner, was a berth they jammed in. Whatever it was, this room was clearly a dumping grounds of sorts for random things the Scavengers found, which, Fulcrum supposed, he was one of them now.

“Yeah, no. This is great. This is perfect,” Fulcrum said, eyeing the berth already. Waking up from a million year nap was surprisingly not that refreshing. “Definitely beats lying out there in the corpses.”

“Yeah,” Krok said, a hand coming down to gently pat him on the shoulder. It was light. And friendly. But Fulcrum tensed all down his back strut, and few flecks of his rusted plating floated down to the floor. As Fulcrum cast his eyes down, he swept them away with his foot.

“You should stop by with Spinister tonight. He can fix your body up,” Krok said.

“Right. Yeah. Of course. Spinister.” Fulcrum slunk away and out of Krok’s hand. 

It really was easy to forget. A mech couldn’t blame him, right? He just had the bomb dropped on him (pun intended) that he apparently slept through the last million years or so. And that their big war- _the_ war that never stopped-- was over. And that they lost. Or well, he thinks they lost. They probably lost. And to top it all off, he survived. That was a lot. So it was easy to forget the little detail that he didn’t look like himself anymore. He looked… well, he looked like a bomb that was dropped from the troposphere1.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. But first--” Fulcrum gave some sort of vague gestures to his room, and that seemed enough to get Krok to leave. 

“Remember, Spinister’s room is just down the hall. He’ll take you to the medbay,” Krok reminded him as he left.

Fulcrum just nodded, watching Krok leave. It was all he could do to stop himself from trudging over and collapsing into his berth right now. Maybe another million year nap. Everything certainly felt heavy and foggy enough for that. But instead he sighed, closing the door and setting off down the rest of the hallway. It wasn’t long before he found Spinister’s room, but he hesitated. Krok was right. Not hard to tell with all the bullet holes around it. And judging by the light shining through them Spinister was still awake in there. But that wasn’t what kept Fulcrum frozen in place instead of knocking. 

Just down the hall was a soft red glow, alerting Fulcrum to the presence of the medbay. Clenching his teeth at the growing pit inside him, he turned away. He crossed his arms and squeezed, his digits digging dents into arms with a paint job so unfamiliar it didn’t register as his.

“What, are you lost already?”

Fulcrum yelped, jumping clear 180 degrees around. An amused Misfire was watching him. “Uhhh--”

“Yeah, see, that’s Spinister’s room. Remember? Big scary guy with the blades and the gun?” Fulcrum only had time to flinch before Misfire threw an arm around his shoulder, hauling him down the hall. Fulcrum hobbled to catched up under the weight of a jet.

“Actually, he’s our medic,” Misfire said, barrelling on like he didn’t notice Fulcrum squirming around uncomfortably in his grip. “Did I mention that? Kind of a genius. Primus, you’d think Krok would have given you a place to sleep. Well, you can sleep in my room!”

“Oh. No, it’s okay. I--”

“Berth is big enough. Might have to squeeze in, though.”

“Really. Krok talked to me. It’s--”

“And watch out for my wings. I’m told I flap them in my sleep. You don’t mind being the little spoon do you?”

“Get _off_ me!” Fulcrum snapped, finally jerking his way out of Misfire’s hug. He faltered, looking away before his words hit Misfire. “No, I mean. It’s fine. It’s--” Fulcrum stumbled, back-pedaling through his words and towards his own door. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re all great. Thanks for not drinking my guts, you know? But look. Krok did give me a room. See? Right here. It’s okay. Very comfy. Won’t take up your room. I’m sure I need a shower anyway, I was just dead. Sorry,” he quickly added as he rushed into his room, wincing as he slammed the door shut behind himself.

Fulcrum rubbed his palms down his face. Well, that was a disaster. Peaking through his finger, he looked to his berth, exhausted. He’d just have to do that tomorrow.

  
  


***

Fulcrum wasn’t sure how long he slept for. His internal chronometer wasn’t one of the things that survived the fall. But he was sure not much of that counted as sleeping anyway. When he finally give up he could already hear a commotion outside. He dragged himself to his feet, feeling just as heavy and disoriented as he felt when they first woke him up from his little “nap.” The whole “not being dead after all” was not quite wired in yet. 

He better figure out how these guys do breakfast. He just hopped it didn’t involve any siphoning.

Fulcrum followed the noise down the hallway of the WAP and thundering footsteps approached back, coming from the kitchen. He squinted, then sucked air in with a squeak, throwing himself flat against the wall to avoid Misfire barrelling past him. 

“Misfire!” Krok bellowed after him but barely left his seat. Instead, he just sighed as Fulcrum gave him a look that was half sympathy and half confusion. “My labelled energon,” Krok said, standing to grab himself another.

“So this happens often?” Fulcrum asked.

“Almost every day.” Krok sounded tired.

“Hide my energon, got it.” Fulcrum took a seat at the table across from Crankcase, Spinister, and Flywheels. Flywheels was staring, Spinister was drawing something on the table, and Crankcase barely looked up. 

“You look like shit,” Crackcase said, returning to his padd.

From beside him Fulcrum heard Krok slam the pantry door shut, and he flinched, sheepishly turning to meet his glare. 

“I thought I told you to go to Spinister last night,” Krok said, and Fulcrum fidgeted under his stern voice. “You’re falling apart all over the WAP.” Fulcrum opened his mouth to argue, but closed it at that, quickly sweeping away some of the flecks he had shed onto the table.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Fulcrum said. 

“Just last night Misfire was holding your fuel pump. It’s _taped_ back in now,” Krok countered. Okay, there was kind of no come back for that one, and Krok knew it. 

“Spinister?” And Spinister rose from his place at the table.

“Put him back together, got it,” Spinister said. “I’ll go get more tape.” 

“Tape?” Fulcrum looked pleadingly at everyone at the table, landing last on Flywheels.

“Don’t worry, he’s not that scary,” Flywheels said comfortingly, just before the table and chairs were shoved away as he transformed into a jet.

Fulcrum turned his eyes to the rest of them, but after finding no out, he reluctantly followed after Spinister. He just counted himself lucky that Spinister wasn’t one of the touchy feely ones on the ship. But that relief only lasted for a second, swallowed by the growing dread the further they got down the hallway.

There was no avoiding it now. The only other option was escape, and Fulcrum’s optics briefly lingered on the entrance to the WAP as they walked by it. He could do it. It wasn’t too late to bolt for it. Settle down in the junk and corpses again. He continued numbly down the hallway, and it wasn’t long before Spinister was leading him into the medbay, and any hopes of escape were crushed between the frame of the closing medbay doors. Resigned, he silently and dutifully climbed onto the table Spinister led him to.

Fulcrum glanced around the medbay, denta clenched to keep in whatever dregs of energon were left in him. It was all surprisingly clean considering Spinister and the rest of the ship. Not even any bullet holes. There was a Misfire-shaped indent in the wall, though. Fulcrum could only guess. But it had the same nauseating, sterile smell of every medbay that wound Fulcrum into a tight, tense ball.

Just another crazed Decepticon medic to take him apart and put him back together in ways he didn’t want.

Fulcrum barely noticed when Spinister sat next to his berth until he felt a shocking pain run through his shoulder. He instinctively jerked away, wide eyes turning on Spinister accusingly only to find Spinister unarmed, open palm held up.

“ _Sorry_ , sorry,” Fulcrum fumbled out with a half-baked smile. “I, uh, don’t think I was the best K-Class Decepticon.” He sat back and squeezed his optics shut. “Do what you gotta do.”

“Can’t yet,” Spinister said. “You haven’t told me what you want.”

Fulcrum opened his optics, but only a crack, as if to peak out behind a guarded door. “What I _want_?”

“Yes. That’s step one.” And Spinister turned a padd over, displaying his operating procedure that read “StEp 1: WHaT tO fiX? STep 2: FiX”

Fulcrum furrowed his brow, looking from that to the supposed genius who was fixing him. “Right. And, uh, I get to choose?” A nod from Spinister, with the stipulation that the Scavengers had good enough parts for that.

“Oh. Well.” Fulcrum started uncertainly, but propped himself up straighter in the berth. “There is a couple things…”

*****

It was… well, Fulcrum still didn’t know how long it took him to get out of there. But hey! Working chronometer! Next time he’d know. It took some wandering, but eventually he found his way to what must have been the living room. The glow of a T.V. illuminated the silhouettes of Krok and Crankcase on the couch, and Fulcrum lingered behind it, watching over their shoulders. Eugh. Gross. Some sort of organic species was on the screen.

As Fulcrum hesitated there Spinister stomped past him and flopped down on the couch.

“Hey, _blades_!”

“Spinister we talked about this!”

Krok and Crankcase grumbled, dodging Spinister’s rotors and squeezing to the side to make room for him. As they shuffled around, Crankcase glanced back.

“Look who’s not dead.”

At that, Krok flipped around, squinting at Fulcrum in the dark. His optics went up and down Fulcrum’s new frame and Fulcrum cast his optics down on himself as well, crossing his arms and steeling himself for the judgement.

Krok nodded. “Looks good.” And the two turned back to the T.V.

Fulcrum blinked.

“Oh,” Krok said, sensing Fulcrum’s hesitation, “and you can sit down. We’ve got more chairs.”

“Even though it may not _look_ like it,” Crankcase complained, shoving Spinister’s arm away.

“We’re watching something from Earth,” Krok said. 

“Real weird.”

“It’s called The Blue Planet.”

“You won’t _believe_ what they do there.”

“Thanks, uh--” Fulcrum glanced up at the T.V. and blanched-- “but maybe next time? Think I’ll just go and recharge after, well--” he gestured at himself-- “all that.”

Fulcrum retreated down the hallway towards his room, only making it a few steps before the light above him flickered and burnt out. He sighed. Seems he wasn’t the only thing falling apart on this ship. Stumbling to the wall, he resorted to blindly feeling his way to his room. Slowly, he inched his way forward, toeing away cans and garbage and who knows what else on the floor. 

“Agh! Come on.” Fulcrum jerked one hand away. “Why is it _sticky_ here?” Gingerly, he shook his hand around to get it off. As he was silently bemoaning the loss of his new hand, the wall opened up from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“New guy!” Fulcrum looked up, squinting against the sudden light, to a grinning Misfire standing at the entrance to his own room. Misfire grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him clear off the ground, before plopping him down on unsteady pedes. “What, lost again? Or did you decide to take me up on that offer? Oh! Or did you find what I left in that storage room? If you did then dibs. I was still gonna eat that.”

“Uhh,” was all Fulcrum managed. “That’s… concerning”

“So lost again, huh? Well, all you have to do is _ask_ if you need help,” Misfire said, throwing another arm around Fulcrum and jostling him around. Fulcrum flinched and grabbed at Misfire's arm, and this time Misfire paused. Frowning, he took a step back, doing a double-take as he got a good look at Fulcrum. 

“Huh." Misfire looked up an down Fulcrum. "This is new, right?” Quickly, he ran to the other side of Fulcrum who tried to spin around to meet him. 

“Hey, what are you--”

“Oh yeah this is definitely new.” He popped back in front of Fulcrum. “Where's all your bomb stuff?”

“Actually...” Fulcrum said. “Spinister changed that. This is kinda more what I looked like, uh--” he rubbed the back of his helm, gesturing vaguely. “You know, before all that. I mean, not _exactly_ , but closer. Oh, and except the goggles.” He wiggled them on his head. “Kinda liked those.”

Misfire grinned. “Still got the giant chin.”

“Yeah, still got that.” Tentatively, Fulcrum grinned back, but it broke as he faltered. “Uh, last night. It probably wasn’t the best first impression for the people who more or less brought me back to life.”

“You mean that weird noise you made when you woke up?”

“No, I-- weird noise?”

“Yeah, kind of this wheezing, zombie moan. Thought we awakened the curse.”

“That’s not what I-- Okay, zombies don’t wheeze, first of all. They don't need air. But that’s not what I meant. You know, when we met in the hallway?”

Misfire squinted, staring off in the distance, optics drifting towards the ceiling. “Oh!” He lit up. “Yeah, when you were lost. You also made a weird noise then.”

“Right.. yeah, that. Sorry about… all of it. I just-- I’m just--” Fulcrum rubbed the bridge of his nose-- “I don’t know. It’s complicated. Just maybe no touching for now? Is that weird?”

Misfire shrugged. “Nah, Crankcase is like that all the time. And he’s way scarier than you. You know he’s not in a huggin’ mood when he’s frowning.”

“Isn’t he always-- yeah, nevermind. Just, uh—“ Fulcrum slumped and smiled, tired and relieved— “thanks.”

Misfire threw his arms open. “Well, yeah. You’re a Scavenger now, pinhead! That's part of it.”

Fulcrum lip turned up in a small smile. “Yeah, guess I _am_ a Scavenger now.”

Misfire leaned in close, whispering, “It’s Sca _venger!_ You're gonna wanna get that right. Second lesson.”

"Sca... _venger_?"

"Now you're getting it! Spoken like a true Scavenger. Now come on let's go show Krok, he'll love to hear that."

    1. I don't know why I looked this up. [ ▲ ]



**Author's Note:**

> Oh. Wow. Posting again. Wild. This is vaguely based off a conversation in a Discord server, but given that that conversation took place *checks notes* months? a year? ago, I don't think anyone remembers it.


End file.
